I open the door slowly, doing my best to avoid waking Mom up. Mr. Stone said she kicked him out wanting to get an early night.

Elliot’s hands are on the small of my back as he patiently waits behind me. I know he was surprised I invited him over, but as soon as the thought entered my mind I couldn’t let it go. There’s no better way for him to explain it all than to show him everything first hand.

“My room is just this one on the right,” I tell him, leading the way. As we walk I see the light in the bathroom peering through the bottom of the door. “I’m just going to switch the light off and meet you in there, will you be okay?”

He grips my waist and kisses me behind my ear. “I’ll be fine.”

Turning the handle, I walk into what can only be described as a nightmare. There on the floor is Mom, covered in vomit and blood pooling around her head.

“Mom,” I shout into an empty room.

I launch myself inside, falling to the floor; the drop to my knees echoing off the walls. I place my two fingers on the side of her neck, her pulse is there but weak as hell. My mind and eyes race around the room trying to piece the whole scenario together. There’s blood everywhere and I try to remind myself that head injuries usually look worse than they are. Take deep breaths, Courtney. Everything is going to be okay. Her head is cradled in my lap, my hands caress the side of her face, trying to wake her up. The tears stream down my face and I know I have to call for an ambulance, but I just can’t get up. Seconds feel like minutes, but my world is crashing down. I had one job; to keep her alive, and I can barely get that right. My body is choosing this moment to shut down on me, it feels like my blood is turning into lead.

I’m just about to pull her out of my lap to get up and make the call when I hear a familiar voice in the corridor. Elliot. I forgot he was here.

“Hey. I thought I heard you scream— Shit. Court. What the fuck happened?”

I look up and the worry on his face, makes the reality of the situation harder to bear. My breathing quickens. I’m trying to tell him I need an ambulance, but my tongue is swollen and my words are stuck. I think I’m having a panic attack. Is this what they feel like? God. Whatever this is I feel it overtake my body like a hurricane.

I watch him pull his cell out of his pocket, and check mom’s pulse. I can hear random words spill out of his mouth as he talks on the phone.

“No, I don’t know if she took anything.” He begins to pace and runs his hand ferociously through his hair. He crouches beside me and grabs my face. “Court. Baby. Can you hear me? Does she take medication? Is she sick?” His eyes don’t waver. He holds my stare and grips my face with determination. “Breathe, baby. Breathe.” He continues to talk to the dispatcher, “Listen, I can’t get any information out of anyone. Can you please hurry up.” His voice becomes distant in the background, breathing gets harder and a sheen of sweat erupts all over my body. My vision gets blurry while a wave of light-headedness blankets me. I feel myself falling before I can even ask Elliot to catch me.

* * *

“I don’t need to be in a hospital bed,” I argue.

“Can you just please relax. It’s precautionary. Check your blood pressure, your sugar level, make sure you’re hydrated before they let you go.”

“Relax?” I shriek. “How do you expect me to do that when nobody will tell me if my mom is okay or not?” Holding my hand, he squeezes it with desperation. “Please just hang tight, I’ll get someone to come and tell us, but for now, I can’t get the image of you going limp in my arms out of my head.”

My resolve softens at his request feeling guilty at what he had to witness. “It was only a few minutes, I’m fine,” I say, trying to reassure him.

The door opens, and two people walk in. The middle-aged man is the doctor, his long white coat giving him away. And by his side a young woman walks in, scribbling on a notebook. She raises her head and her eyes flickering between the both of us. “Sorry, to disturb you both. We just wanted to give you an update on your mom.”

“Is she okay? Is she awake?” I ask, panicked. Elliot holds my hand in between his, attempting to reduce my anxiety.

The doctor clears his throat. “We had to pump your mom’s stomach, which is a standard procedure to clear the stomach of any of the toxins, and hopefully prevent it from further being absorbed into her bloodstream.” His tone is serious, detached and extremely mechanical. “We took an x-ray of her head, but at this stage, there isn’t anything more than a lump and we’ve put in a few stitches. We will keep her here to monitor for a concussion, anyway.”

“So, she will be staying here?” I ask in confusion. “For how long?” The doctor glances over to the young woman, and a look passes between them before they look back at me.

“This is Dr. Adrienne Wood and she will be discussing Ms. Hart’s discharge plan with you.”

Discharge plan?

The doctor exits the room, leaving Elliot and I with Dr. Wood. She glances at Elliot, and then myself. “Um. As Dr. Johnson mentioned, my name is Dr. Wood. I’m a psychiatrist here at the hospital and I’m going to ask you a few questions about your mother.”

“Okay.”

“And usually I request that only family be present.” Directed at Elliot, my defense mode kicks in.

“He can stay,” I say sternly.

He rises, his hands still holding mine. “It’s okay, I can come back when you’re done.”

“No,” I persist. “I want you to stay.” I promised myself I would let him in, that I would show him what life with me is all about. He leans over, kissing the side of my head before taking his seat beside me, once more.

“Okay, let’s get started then.” She grabs a nearby chair and drags it to the side of my bed. “Your mom is in a stable condition, as the doctor advised, but I wanted to ask some questions about her mental health.”

My body tenses, my muscles clenching in anticipation of what’s to come next. It almost feels like deja vu, or maybe I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen for so long, I’m not shocked by the words that come out of her mouth. I avoid looking at Elliot, I might want him here, but nobody said it was going to be easy. I don’t want to have to watch the shock pass his face as his first introduction to my mother is a psychiatrist’s depiction of her mental state. Eventually, I nod, giving the doctor the go ahead. The quicker we start, the quicker this ends.

“How often does your mother drink alcohol?”

“Every day.”

“Would you say she’s an alcoholic?”

“Yes,” I say. My voice a little bit louder than a whisper.

“And the pills?”

“I don’t really keep track of them,” I confess. “You could say I was too focused on her alcohol consumption.”

“My concern here is if this was an accident, or there’s a possibility your mom was trying to take her own life.” She pauses, giving me time to process her words. I never expected the truth to make me feel so ashamed of the way my mom has been living. Embarrassed that I haven’t done more. “Do you think she was trying to take her own life?” she repeats.

Elliot doesn’t waver, he links his fingers through mine and lifts my hands to his lips. Delicately he kisses my skin, offering himself as my pillar of strength; reminding me I’m not alone.

“It’s a possibility.”

“And if you don’t mind me asking, how long has this been going on for? What would you say is or was a trigger.”

“For tonight? Or for her drinking in general?”

“Both is fine, the more answers, the better.”

“Um, well, tonight I was out. My neighbor and I have an agreement he watches Mom if I’m not going to be home for a while. Usually she’ll go to bed and then he’ll leave. I haven’t spoken to him yet, but I would say she said she was going to bed, he left and then she began drinking or taking pills.”

“And is her addiction something she’s always had to contend with?”

“No, she wasn’t always like this.” The doctor looks at me expectantly, and I take a deep breath before dropping the bomb. The game changer.

“She started drinking shortly after my sister took her own life,” I blurt out.

I feel Elliot’s body stiffen and his hands leave mine, the second the words leave my mouth, I turn to look at him, regretting it the instant my sight sets on him. All I see is hurt.

My eyes beg and plead for forgiveness, but as the seconds roll on by, the hurt is overshadowed by anger, and I know I’m losing him. Walls start to go up and there’s no one to blame but me.

“Do you think she would be interested in seeking help? Rehab maybe?” Dr. Wood asks, interrupting the moment, completely oblivious to the tension surrounding us. I unwillingly tear my eyes away from his and get back to answering her questions.

“Help sounds good. She needs it.”

“And you?”

“What?”

“You? Would you like any support? I can’t imagine this has been easy on you.”

“Uh no, thank you. I’m fine.” I need her to leave. I need to reach back into Elliot’s body and find his forgiving heart. I need to talk to him before it’s too late.

“Okay. Once your mom wakes up I’ll be talking to her, assessing her state of mind, and then with her and you by her side, we will take some necessary steps.” She heads to the door and turns in our direction one last time. “Anything else?”

I shake my head unable to muster any words, and she walks on out without a single parting word. As soon as she’s out of sight, I hear the chair scrape on the vinyl floor and feel him stand up. He wastes no time walking away from me.

“Elliot.”

“Don’t,” he says.

“Please don’t go.” His fists clench at my plea. “Turn around. Look at me, talk to me.”

“I can’t, Court. I want to. I want nothing more than to let you make this right.”

“I was going to tell you tonight. We started talking over dinner, you walked into my house tonight. You know that meant something.” I’m rambling hysterically, trying any angle I can to stop him from walking out on me right now. I swing my legs off the bed and walk up behind him. I rest my hands on his back, he holds his breath at the contact.

“Her name was Renee. She was older than me,” I start. He turns the minute my voice sounds in the room and starts shaking his head.

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear it if you never had plans to tell me.”

“Of course I had plans to tell you. I just didn’t know how or when.”

“How or when?” he spits out in anger.

“How about anytime before tonight. Anytime where I spoke about my brother and his suicide, you should’ve jumped in and said, ‘hey, I get it.’” He lowers his voice, takes hold of my cheeks and lets his pained eyes bore into mine “I mean you’ve known about James the whole fucking time. From the very first time, you knew and you still didn’t want to share that part of you with me.”

“I wasn’t trying to lock you out.” The tears stream down my face while the twisted truth comes out of my mouth. If I wasn’t trying to keep him out what was I doing, besides hurting us both. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

He presses his lips on mine one last time. “Me too, Courtney. Me too.”